Replacement
by SuperNatasha
Summary: Gendry's POV from 03.08, "Second Sons." Gendry is not a fool. He has lived in Flea's Bottom and seen the business done by women around him. And Gendry is not a child. He is a man with desires and the blood of a stag, strong and red.


Gendry is not a fool; nor is he a child. It has not escaped his attention that Melisandre is beautiful, with fiery thick hair and skin that glows like embers are hidden within her cheeks- and hooded eyes. Piercing blue, framed by dark lashes.

Whenever she fixes him with her focused glare, he wants to hide. Gendry cannot look into her face for long, he always finds another direction to turn to. There is something ancient in the contours of her face, and there is something seductive.

No, Gendry is not a fool. He has lived in Flea's Bottom and seen the business done by women around him. And Gendry is not a child. He is a man with desires and the blood of a stag, strong and red.

So when she leans close to him, whispering about Gods and destiny, and her fingers are unlacing the front of his coat, Gendry is very well aware what she is doing. He wants to pull away, but she is warm and he has spent too many nights alone in the cold. She is light and he is sick of darkness. She is relief and he aches everywhere. She is a wild lithe figure with grey eyes and brown hair and he-

Gendry blinks and his eyes widen. Melisandre is still disrobing him, pushing off his tunic so his skin is bare in the humid air of the room. He clears his throat, unsure how Arya's image had formed in his mind.

"I don't understand. This doesn't seem very religious," he says in feeble resistance. Whatever words come out of her mouth are lost to his ears in a vague buzz. The idea of Arya alone with the Brothers leaves of a bitter taste in his mouth.

He can't spend the rest of his life in worry for the lady of Winterfell, even if he isn't just a bastard anymore. The thought serves as a reminder to him- he _is_ a bastard. The lusty and impure thoughts in him when Melisandre presses against him are proof. Gendry tries not to stare as she takes her dress off, though averting his gaze is more difficult than he had thought. She is a poor replacement for the one he wants, but this is the best he will get.

So he lets Melisandre lead him to the bed, and she tastes like wine, wine and smoke, something like the forge. Like her eyes, the rest of her body seems like a tool in seduction as well.

The mattress is soft beneath his head when Melisandre drapes herself above him and Gendry squeezes his eyes shut. He has never done anything of the sort before, preferring to focus on his work at the smith. But if he's going to be with a woman, he thinks it is better to be with this one. Surely she holds less consequences.

By the time Melisandre pulls down his breeches, he is completely hard. His self control disappears entirely and he doesn't bother trying to hold on. Perhaps the Red Priestess is the closest he will ever get to royalty in this lifetime and he wants to get this over with.

He keeps his eyes closed when Melisandre lowers herself onto him, wet and slick, radiating every bit of heat the gods have given her. Gendry groans when she moves against him, skin on skin. He loses coherent thought at that point, focusing only on pleasure and the friction of their bodies.

Yet when his hands wander to her full breasts, he has to force himself to remember it is Melisandre fucking him, not anyone else, certainly not a wild lady with dirt caked under her nails and eyes as cold as ice. Gendry's breath quickens and he bites his tongue until he tastes blood to avoid moaning _her_ name.

When he feels the first leather restraint against his wrists, he tries to ignore it. But it bites and his shoulder complains. Reluctant, Gendry manages in a hoarse voice, "What're you doing?"

"Just trust me," she purrs, hot tongue tracing down his chest. But Arya didn't trust her, and he doesn't trust her either. Her weight lifts off him and he still refuses to open his eyes. It isn't until she binds his legs that he is forced to look.

He wishes he hadn't. But he wishes many things.

* * *

Melisandre had asked him what the gods of Westeros had ever done for him. Nothing. They had given him only disappointment and misery. And now here is another god, of Essos, giving him more of the same.

Even as the leeches suck the life from his blood and his scream echo in the chamber, he curses the gods, all of them.

It is only humans he places faith in. When he finds _her_ again, he will never leave. He swears it through the haze of his pain.


End file.
